


Million Dollar Industry

by EllieMurasaki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: mundane_bingo, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-01
Updated: 2010-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieMurasaki/pseuds/EllieMurasaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean, haircuts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Million Dollar Industry

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Haircut" by Troubled Hubble (I need one, now can't you see).

"You sure you don't want a proper haircut?" Dean says. "I'm telling you, man, hair that long, you look like a girl."

"Just trim it," Sam says. There's no connection between the length of Sam's hair and whether Dean thinks Sam's girly anyway. Rachel Maddow's on MSNBC, her voice coming through the open bathroom door, though Sam's not sure why they're listening because she's talking about state-level elections and the last time Dean cared about state-level elections was sometime around never, and Rachel's hair is about as long as Dean's.

Dean gets out the scissors. "Oops," he says after the first few snips. "That's gonna be ugly. I'd better cut it all short to compensate."

"Bite me," Sam says, because it's expected. He doesn't need to do that trick with two mirrors to see what Dean's done to the back of his head. Dean's hands are never unsteady and the only time Dean actually cut Sam's hair short was the time they were chasing two ghosts and the one thought the burning bones of the other would make good projectiles.

When Sam's done, he runs both hands through his hair, which is perfectly fine, and gets up so Dean can take his place sitting on the edge of the tub. Sam plugs in the razor, picks out the plastic thing he's never figured out the name of that ensures he can't shave too close, and runs it over Dean's head, left side then right, back of the neck, behind both ears. It isn't a regulation Marine cut, but Sam looked up the regs for the US Army once and this would certainly qualify. "Should give you a mohawk," he says. "I bet there's a drugstore around here with Technicolor hair dye."

"Only if you want that razor in your eye."

"Sounds painful," Sam says. "I'll pass." The stripe of hair down the middle of Dean's head is the last thing to go.

Sam gathers the bits of hair together and dumps them in the sink while Dean goes out to the main room for a motel matchbook. The match lights on the second try. Sam goes to open a window: he knows all the reasons they can't leave bits of themselves lying around if they can possibly avoid it (spells using strands of hair or nail clippings, the dreamroot experience, and God forbid one of them becomes a ghost because it is not humanly possible to track down all the places they've left their blood), but burning hair still stinks to high heaven.


End file.
